


Through Darkness There is Love

by mznaughty01



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - No Hale Fire, Background Relationships, Derek and Stiles are Mates, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Omega Stiles Stilinski, Past Underage, Possessive Derek Hale, Sibling Incest, Stiles Has a Brother, Stilinski Twins, Threesome - M/M/M, Twincest, Underage Kissing, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-14
Updated: 2013-10-14
Packaged: 2017-12-29 09:00:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1003509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mznaughty01/pseuds/mznaughty01
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Six long years had gone by since the last time Stiles laid eyes on him, talked to him, touched him. His twin. His <i>identical</i> twin. Now here Link was. A part of Stiles's life again. And along with Link came one Derek Hale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Through Darkness There is Love

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the lovely Stilinski Twins posts that are all over Tumblr right now.

“Stiles! _Hey_ , Stiles! Slow down!”

Stiles didn’t slow down, he froze. Just stopped walking, mid-step. The blood in his veins ran ice cold for a split second, then heated up hotter than fire in direct relation to his accelerated heart rate. Slowly, he lowered his foot still raised in the air down to the sidewalk, his class he’d been on the way to no longer quite so important, but he didn’t turn around to face the person who’d called out to him.

It wasn’t necessary, he already knew who it was. Six long years had gone by since he’d last heard that particular voice coming from that particular mouth, but Stiles would never be able to forget it. Could never forget it, no matter how much he sometimes wanted to as a result of those certain days he refused to acknowledge, even to himself, refused to even _think_ about. Days when his barriers were so low they were almost non-existent and he allowed himself to stroke his cock until the explicit, forbidden memories playing in his mind on overtime caused him to come so hard he was left a crying, shaking, inconsolable mess in the immediate aftermath. The depression that always followed lasted for a week, minimum. Sometimes, it lasted longer. Mostly, it lasted longer.

The cadence of the voice was the same, the tone was the same.

As Stiles’s own.

Sucking in a deep gulp of air through his mouth that hung open, Stiles listened to the sound behind him of feet hitting the ground hard as they rushed in his direction. With every step they came closer, nerves and fear twisted his belly into a tight knot and the thoughts of _wrongwrongwrong, what they’d done to and with each other was_ bad _, disgusting and so, so wrong_ made him lightheaded and nauseous. Then _he_ was right there in front of Stiles, all big unbelieving eyes set behind thick rimmed black glasses. And his face was so very familiar—Stiles saw it _every_ time he looked in the mirror, looked at any type of reflection of himself.

Immediately, Stiles felt better. Like he’d just rediscovered an integral part of who he was and could finally— _finally_ —breathe again. Be whole again, happy. Knew it was because of _him_.

He. Him. Stiles’s other half. His twin. His _identical_ twin.

“Fuck, it-it really _is_ you,” Link rasped out in a low whisper.

“ _Link_ ,” Stiles gasped in return.

Then Link pulled Stiles into a hug, smiling wide. And Stiles let it happen, smiling back. Despite being aware somewhere in a little, tiny corner of his head that he probably shouldn’t. He even buried his face in the side of Link’s neck as he held onto his brother twice as hard as Link held onto him. The spiciness of the cologne Link wore, and the musky scent of sweat and warmth that was just plain Link, filled Stiles’s nose and it was the best thing he could remember smelling in all of ever.

A voice reeking of amusement asked from just in back of Stiles, “How’d he end up with a nickname even more ridiculous than yours?”

Link chuckled and Stiles felt the rumble against his chest. It had been _so_ long since he’d last felt that vibration, _too_ long. Still, it felt right as it ever had, like the years they’d been away from one another, with no contact at all, were no more than a few negligible weeks apart.

Before answering, Link pulled away and took a step back. “Well, the more ridiculous real name lands you with the more ridiculous nickname, isn’t that right, Godzislaw?”

“Right, because your real name is so much better,” Stiles mumbled. The exchange was an old one, familiar, even as far out of use as it was. They’d been having it since they were four when they’d thought up and gifted their nicknames to each other.

“It really, really is.”

“It really, really is _not_.”

“Your name’s _literally_ pronounced Gods is law.”

“You know that’s not how you say it.”

“Yeah, whatever you have to tell your—”

“Shut it, Godek.”

“Man, I’ve missed you.” Brown eyes blinked rapidly, glimmering with the same unshed dampness Stiles could feel stinging his own eyes, then flicked to right over Stiles’s shoulder. “But, Derek, I really need you to tell me why my baby brother is dressed like a douche right now.”

“ _Godek_?”

“I _will_ kill you.” Link focused on Stiles again. “ _Why_ are you dressed like a douche?”

“Dude, you’re wearing a cardigan—a navy blue _cardigan_ —with a matching beanie. Based just on that piece of hair you have artistically tufted out from underneath your hat, your right to question my fashion choices has forever been revoked. Reinstatement denied. Do not apply again.” Arms flung out from his sides, Stiles looked down at himself. Plaid overshirt. T-shirt with a screen print of R2-DT. Jeans that were a little baggy, but still a good fit overall. “And there’s nothing wrong with what I got on.”

“You mean besides the fact that it completely showcases how your style as a gay man is a total fail?” Link asked, taking Stiles’s open armed stance as an invitation to mount a second invasion.

 _He wasn’t gay._ Stiles tried to force the words out.

But he couldn’t. They wouldn’t come. Not with the want coursing all throughout him because of Link plastered to his front like he was, close, so close, chest-to-chest. Not with the heat burning up his skin, right through all his protective layers of clothing, where Link’s arms were wrapped around him, one up high on Stiles’s shoulders, the other down low on his back, just above the waistband of the pants he had on.

Not with Link breathing out a warm moistness that brushed Stiles’s ear and made his mouth dry for reasons he didn’t want to contemplate because the only way he should want Link, should’ve ever wanted Link, was as a brother. _Brother_. Same father, same mother. Anything other than that was wrong, would _always_ be wrong, and were perversions that should stay dead and in the past.

“I’ve missed you,” Link said. “I’ve missed you _so_ fucking much.”

And _especially_ not when the Derek dude stepped from in back of Stiles. He met Stiles’s gaze as he cupped a comforting hand around the back of Link’s head in a way that spoke of deep familiarity on an intimate level. A brief moment of hesitation, then he laid his other hand on Stiles’s shoulder. Stiles felt his dick, that had already been wrongly chubbing up in response to Link’s nearness, go full on hard.

 _He wasn’t gay,_ he told himself as they stood there on Columbia’s campus, a roadblock in the middle of the sidewalk. Students rushing to and from their various destinations were forced to detour around them. _He wasn’t._

Being gay meant loving Link in ways he wasn’t allowed to. It was the reason that Link had been taken away from him. Now that Stiles had him back, he couldn’t lose Link for a second time. That type of heartbreak would annihilate Stiles if he had to go through it again.

But he also didn’t know if he was truly ready to handle having Link back in his life. As just his brother. And that’s all Link would be. Because Link, apparently, had Derek to fill all the spots that Stiles used to.

Sobs that Stiles tried his best to keep quiet rocked through him. Derek’s hold on him tightened. Transformed into fingers that softly caressed the back of his neck.

*

_When they were fourteen..._

It wasn’t the first intimate touch they’d exchanged. But this _was_ going to be the first time they crossed _the_ line.

Once over it, there would be no coming back. Not for them.

“Please,” Link said. He was straddled across Stiles, used his weight to press Stiles down into the soft comforter beneath him. When he ground his ass on Stiles’s crotch, Stiles whimpered, then met the move with a roll of his hips upwards. Link’s eyes fluttered shut for just a moment and his mouth dropped open, tongue darting out to moisten lips red and swollen from kisses and bites Stiles had given.

They were in Link’s room, on his bed. Ever since they’d graduated from sharing a crib, they’d had their own spaces which included places for them to each, separately, lay down their heads. But since they were always together, they normally just stayed in one room, whichever was cleaner. Today, that had been Link’s. Even with the sweat soaked shirts discarded on his floor that they’d stripped off after practicing lacrosse out in the backyard for the last hour until Mom had called them in because she was getting ready to head out to dinner with Dad.

Normally, an evening out for dinner included Stiles and Link unless they decided they didn’t want to go for whatever reason since they were old enough to stay home by themselves now. But this dinner was just for their parents. Neutral territory for them to discuss their differences and problems, the increased arguments they’d been having lately.

( _I know how important your job is, John, I do, and I understand. But why can’t you understand that I miss you, that the_ boys _miss you also? ~ Jesus, Claudia, we’ve already been over this. I have responsibilities as the Sheriff and I...I just want to drop it for the moment. I just walked through the door. Give me a few minutes to myself, alright? Just a few minutes, that’s all I’m asking for._ )

“Stiles, _please_.” Link’s moan interrupted Stiles’s thoughts, redirected them to the situation at hand with its thick need.

“Yeah,” Stiles agreed. He didn’t ask Link what it was that he begged for. He knew. Wanted it, too. Had known for weeks where their desperate licking into each other’s mouths and mutual handjobs were going.

Link slid down Stiles’s chest until his face hovered above the spot his ass had just vacated. His long, graceful fingers paused on the elastic band of the athletic shorts Stiles had on, Link peered up, met Stiles’s eyes. Still unsure. “Are you—”

“I’ll do you next.” And Stiles’s promise must have been enough. His hard cock bobbed up, free, when Link yanked off both Stiles’s shorts and boxer briefs at the same time. The head was flushed red, sticky with pre-come.

“Okay,” Link said, tentative. His first lick of the stickiness covering the tip of Stiles’s dick was just as cautious as the word had been, but enough to have Stiles whining and thrusting up in search of more of that hot wetness. Then, firmer, confident, just before taking in as much of Stiles as he could in a hollow cheeked suck, “ _Okay_.”

*

So, _this_ was uncomfortable. Wherein _this_ was Stiles sitting on the opposite side of the booth from Link and Derek. One of Derek’s arms was stretched out along the back of the seat behind Link, who was sitting so close to Derek he was almost in his lap.

Stiles was man enough to admit that he was just a little bit jealous. But as to the whys of his jealousy, well, that was a little bit more difficult to parse.

He wanted what Link had with Derek. Just...he wanted it with someone a lot less Dereky and a lot more girly.

If he was really being truthful, though, Stiles would admit that he wanted exactly what Link had, Derek, because Derek was hot like fire with his hard, muscled body and stubble, holy hell the stubble. And he would also admit that he wanted what Derek—

Nothing. He wanted nothing that Derek had. That was, of course, unless his abs were up for the taking. _Those_ , Stiles would be all over.

Or, in other words, the truth was extremely overrated.

The remains of what had once been a platter of loaded curly fries ( _Dude, what do you mean you haven’t eaten curly fries in years? ~ Because I couldn’t make myself forget just how much you liked them, Stiles, they reminded me of you too much._ ) was still in the center of the table, the server not yet returned to pick it up. Along with several bottles of beer, emptied while stories had been exchanged on how they’d spent their twenty-firsts the year before ( _Ugh, me and Scott—you don’t know him, he moved to Beacon Hills after you, uh, er, anyway he goes to school here, too, and he’s my roommate—ended up on the front lawn of our apartment building, cold, naked and covered in puke. Mine’s was green and his, strangely, was purplish? I don’t even know. ~ I spent it with Derek. Doing...things. I won’t go into details, but it was nice._ Very _nice. I can feel you internally gloating from all the way over here, Hale. Stop it._ ).

And, now, they’d arrived at the part that Stiles had been dreading.

“I sent you a ton of messages on Myspace, Stiles.”

“Myspace? Lame.”

“Yet you had an account. Still _do_ have an account. And what about the messages I sent you on Facebook? Facebook lame, too?”

“I’m not on Facebook all that much.”

“ _Really_?” As if Link’s tone by itself hadn’t already indicated his level of disbelief for Stiles and his fuckery, and the fact that he had proof to back up his doubt, he slid his finger across the screen of his phone a couple times, then held it up for Stiles to see. “Then why did you make this post, just _this morning_ , about something as silly as which class you were on your way to? You remember this post, right? How ‘bout the post you made one hour before it? Or the one you made thirty minutes before that? Or what about all the ones you made yesterday? The ones from the day before?”

Cheeks heating up, Stiles rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. Over his buzzed head. “Uh...”

“You accepted my friend request, Stiles. For years, I’ve been able to see every detail of your life. A life I wanted to be a part of, but couldn’t because you refused to let me.” Link’s voice rose with every word that left his mouth. It was full of hurt and pain. “ _Because you kept ignoring every message that I sent to you. Kept deleting all the comments I made on your posts, pictures, any-and-everything_.”

“Hey,” Derek said, tone calm but holding a note of warning.

And Link immediately deflated into himself, pushed even further into Derek’s side. “I just...I just want to know what the fuck, Stiles? _What the fuck_.”

Sliding out from his side of the booth, Stiles said to Link, “I wasn’t ready. I’m...I’m still not sure that I am.” He met Derek’s gaze, swallowing hard as those light eyes assessed him, broke him down into a million pieces, without asking a single question, analyzed and understood all the different components revealed. Even the not quite so right parts that loved and desired Link in the same ways that Derek loved and desired him. To Derek, because he would be the one tasked with putting Link back together tonight like Stiles had done so many times growing up, just like Link had done for Stiles, Stiles offered up a half-smile and a weak, “Sorry.”

Then he walked away. Stopped at the tortured sound that escaped Link’s throat. Actually turned around to face Link and Derek before he was aware of what he had done when Derek growled out a harsh, “ _Stiles_.”

It was like Derek had compelled him or something. Which Stiles knew was just his subconscious not wanting to leave, grasping at any reason to stay. Steeling his resolve, Stiles backed up a step, then another, eyes fastened onto Derek’s the whole time. Those light eyes which Stiles’s vivid imagination saw spark an impossible shade of red as a visual representation of Derek’s barely restrained anger.

Stiles whirled to face the exit again, rushed towards it. Once outside, he ran.

Away from Link. Away from Derek. Away from Link _and_ Derek.

Just...away.

*

_When they were nine..._

Shocked, Stiles stared at Link. Who had just punched him.

“What the hell!” he yelled. Only, since the hand he had slapped across his tender nose also covered part of his mouth, it came out more muffled than he would’ve liked and lacked half the impression he was trying to make.

Link came right back with, “I’m telling Mom you said a curse word.” He glared at Stiles for another few seconds, then stalked through the yard, towards their house. “You’re going to get in _sooo_ much trouble.”

Seriously? _Seriously_? “ _You_ hit _me_! You’re going to get into trouble, too, y’know!”

“I don’t care!”

“What is _wrong_ with you? Why would you hit me just because I said I’m going to—”

Before Stiles could get out _marry Lydia Martin one day_ for the second time that afternoon, for the second time in the past five minutes, Link had turned around and launched himself at Stiles. He knocked Stiles down to the ground, sat on top of him, then tried to punch Stiles in the face again. Over and over again, he tried. Arms thrown up, Stiles blocked the blows. Wiggled around until he’d dislodged Link, then crawled on top of Link himself.

But rather than hit Link the way Link had been hitting him, Stiles just stared down at his brother. Link laid there, eyes watering up and breaths coming in fast, ragged gulps. He appeared completely torn apart. Wrecked. More so than Stiles probably did even though Stiles was the victim.

Stiles sighed. Rolled off Link until he was down on the ground next to him. Buried his face in Link’s hair when Link shuffled closer. He held on tight as his brother wet his shirt with a disgusting mixture of tears and snot.

For some reason, Link hated Lydia. Or, maybe it was that Link liked her himself and hated the thought of Stiles someday marrying her. Whatever the reason, no matter how great Stiles thought Lydia Martin was, how pretty, how smart, he refused to let her come between them.

Dad came out a little while later, when the sun had just started to go down and the mosquitos had just begun to feast on exposed arms and legs. He looked down at them tangled up all around each other on the ground. Asked, “Everything okay?”

Answering for them both, Stiles said, “Perfect.”

And he meant it with every ounce of his soul.

Because no one would ever come between him and Link. No one. Instinctively, he knew it was true even if no spoken agreement had been reached.

*

When Scott arrived home from his last class of the day, it was to a sight Stiles suspected was pretty pitiful.

Stiles sat in the center of the couch that had come included with their apartment. Only reason it was still in one piece was due to love and a lot of duct tape. _A lot_. His butt was planted on the crease created by the meeting of the two cushions and he’d sort of sunk down inside as they were just great big lumps that provided no support at all. His head was rested on the top of the couch’s back. All he could see of the ceiling was white, the gold flakes mixed into the popcorn texture indistinguishable since he’d been forced to literally peel his contacts off his eyeballs because they’d somehow dried out and gotten stuck from all the aimless staring he’d been entertaining himself with for the last few hours.

“Dude,” Scott said from somewhere near the front door. “Wanna talk about it?”

A high, pathetic whine was all the response Stiles could muster.

After a few seconds of silence, only disturbed by the sound of Scott shuffling closer, Scott plopped down next to Stiles. “That bad, huh? Erica finally find her common sense and cancel you guys date for tonight?”

“What? Screw you, McCall, I’m awesome, _no_ , she didn’t cancel.” Then, as Stiles remembered that he had an actual _date_ tonight with _Erica_ , he said, “Oh my God! _Date_! _Tonight_! _Erica_!”

His struggles to get off the Stiles eating couch so he could go mope at his closet until it spit out a suitable outfit were unsuccessful. He gave up entirely when Scott flung out an arm and it landed across his chest, pinning him in place.

“Seriously, dude, what’s going on with you? I haven’t seen you this down in the dumps since Dollhouse got cancelled.”

“Scott, I told you a million times already, the problem wasn’t that they _cancelled_ Dollhouse, the problem was the _ridiculous storylines_ they created to neatly tie everything up. They made Boyd evil, then killed him. They made me _like_ Paul, then killed him, too, but oh no, they didn’t _really_ kill him, they just mind raped him into Echo’s head so he could live there forever and ever and she could happily be in love with herself, er, him. I’m just saying, all the storylines sucked. _All of them_.” There was only one other time Scott had seen Stiles in a similar state. When he’d first moved to Beacon Hills, which had been right after Mom and Dad had divorced and Mom had dragged Link with her out here to New York. It had been Scott who’d pulled Stiles out of his funk back then as the lonely new kid on the block who’d needed a friend at a time when Stiles had needed something to distract himself from the horror that was his life. Stiles sighed, then said, “I saw him today.”

Scott picked up the remote and flicked off the tv that Stiles hadn’t been watching anyway (wallowing in his depression had been too fascinating an activity to tear his attention away from, okay). He turned to face Stiles as he tossed the controller onto the center of their rickety coffee table. “Saw who?”

“ _Him_.”

“ _Him_? _Him_ who?”

“Really, Scott?”

“Who are you talking—oh, _oh_ , you mean _him_.” Perked up in excitement, Scott said, “But that’s good, right? Wasn’t a serendipitous encounter your whole motive for coming to Columbia?”

Yeah, that’s what Stiles had told Scott. But it wasn’t the truth. None of what Stiles had told Scott was the truth. Scott had no idea why Stiles and Link had been separated from one another, why their Mom and Dad had really divorced (hint: it didn’t have a damn thing to do with all their fights and arguments), and he never would. He had no idea about Link’s thwarted efforts to contact Stiles. In fact, for reasons Stiles still didn’t comprehend and could never justify, he’d sort of led Scott to believe that the situation was the exact reverse, that it was Stiles who had been maligned and wronged by his twin, that it was his friend request that had been accepted yet his messages and attempts at contact ignored. He’d told Scott his need to go to school on the east coast had been fueled by the hope that he would one day just happen by his twin while walking down the street, just like what had happened that day.

Never once had he confessed that meeting up with Link would’ve been as easy as replying to a message on Facebook.

Because Stiles was sort of fucked up like that.

So that was what led to Stiles avoiding via distraction. “Serendipitous?”

Scott grimaced. “Sorry. PSATs flashback.”

“All the way to Junior year of high school? Scotty-boy, I’ll take some of what you’re having, please.”

The shove Stiles received in answer was good natured, then Scott sobered up again. “So, did things not go well? With Link? Was he as much of an ass face-to-face as he’s been online?”

“Fine. Everything went fine. There were some misunderstandings, but we’ve got them all straightened out. We’re good. Awesome. Fantastic.” Free of Scott’s extra heavy arm (man, Scott had bulked up something nice since outgrowing his asthma a few years back), Stiles levered himself off the couch. “Now come help me find something to wear. Dude, I _have_ to look nice or else Erica will _eat me_. And not in the fun way.”

Half an hour later, Stiles finally had his suitable outfit. Just before ironing it, he opened up his laptop and logged onto Facebook.
    
    
              **Batman, Yo!**
    
    
              Hot date with the lovely **Erica Reyes** tonight!

He used his cell phone to check for replies a little later while in the bathroom gargling. There were three.
    
    
              **Boyd** Date with my girlfriend? Count me in.
    
    
              **Erica Reyes** Damn it, Boyd.
    
    
              **Erica Reyes** :-( Sorry, Stiles, so sorry. We just decided to get back together, like, not even five minutes ago.

Stiles wasn’t even mad. Or surprised. He’d known that Erica and Boyd had just broken up, _again_ , that it had just been the interest of a friend when she'd cornered him earlier in the week at the library and demanded he take her out for drinks Friday night. Erica just needed someone to blow some steam off with, and Stiles would've agreed to go out with her for that reason alone (he was a good dude like that, to her and Boyd _both_ ), but Erica had definitely made it damn hard for Stiles to do anything but accept when she'd shoved her hand down the front of his pants, her acrylic claws threatening parts Stiles was very fond of. When she’d _squeezed_ , he’d babbled, “Friday night! I'm so there! Totally!"
    
    
              **Batman, Yo!**
    
    
              Group date! Tonight! At Dungeon!!!

While in the shower Stiles couldn’t help it, he needed the stress relief. So, he cupped one hand around his balls, used the other to stroke himself, being very careful not to reminisce about big brown eyes peering up at him from a certain mole speckled face belonging to a person down on their knees in front of him. Or about round cheeks flushed the slightest bit pink and covered in streaks of come that Stiles had put there. Or about a wide mouth, with the softest, plushest lips _ever_ wrapped around his dick, gently sucking on Stiles until he went completely soft.

Well, he didn’t think about any of that _too much_.

Instead, he focused more on bushy eyebrows set just above light eyes that were greenish at the outer edges and more hazel towards the center that flashed red, _red_ , in anger. And about a certain mouth with lips that were thinner than anything Stiles normally thought about, had ever felt. He came, hard, come splattering the tiles of the shower, imagining a finger stuffed deep inside of him, but not one that was long and graceful like Stiles’s. Or Link’s.

It was too thick to belong to either of them. Thick like one of Derek’s.

Dressed, walking out the door, Stiles checked his Facebook again. He smiled when he saw that **Erica Reyes, Boyd, S. McCall** and **5 others** had liked his last post. And his heart beat a little faster, just a little bit, as he read the two new messages he’d also received.
    
    
              **Linkster**
    
    
              I want to see you again. Please. Do you mind if me and Derek come?

Then, two minutes later, from someone who wasn’t listed on Stiles’s Friends’ list, but a person that he knew regardless, as of that very day:
    
    
              **Hale**
    
    
              We’ll be there.

*

_When they were four..._

Godzislaw was laying on top of Godek, one cheek smooshed against his brother’s chest. They were laid out on the couch for naptime, where Mama had put them.

 _Almost_ where Mama had put them.

Really, Godzislaw was supposed to be down on the other end. But he didn’t like taking naps so close yet so far away from Godek. Godek didn’t like it either, Godzislaw knew, because Godek had told him once and Godzislaw remembered.

So, after Mama had left the room, Godzislaw had crawled over the cushions until he was on top of Godek and squirmed around until they were both comfortable. Godek’s arms squeezed tight around him, they’d both fallen asleep. Now, awake, Gozislaw listened to the Rugrats playing on the tv behind him, his face turned away from the screen, towards the back of the couch.

Since he’d already been up for several minutes, Godzislaw knew the exact moment Godek finished his nap. Godek’s breathing was no longer deep and heavy. And it was around a huge yawn that Godek greeted Godzislaw by saying, “Godek is a dumb name.”

Godzislaw scrambled all the way up, plopped his butt next to Godek’s feet, then met Godek’s eyes as he sat up, too. “Huh?”

“Godzislaw is even dumber.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“ _Yeah-huh_ , it’s stupid.”

“ _Nooo—_ ”

“Is so. I dreamed ‘bout it. And your new name is Stiles.”

Stiles wasn’t bad. And it _was_ easier to say than Godzislaw. “Stiles?”

“Yep. Stiles.”

“What’s a Stiles, honey?” Mommy asked, walking into the living room from the direction of the kitchen. She stopped behind the couch.

“He is.” Big and toothy, Godek grinned at her as he pointed at Godzis—Stiles.

“Who? Godzislaw?”

“Not Godzislaw, Mommy, _Stiles_. I named him right now. Named him just like our last name. _Stiles_ linkski.”

“Yes, you did. And what about you? You have a new name, too? Or are you still just my Godek?”

As his eyebrows scrunched up in unhappiness, Godek’s grin disappeared. “No, I don’t have, I haven’t—”

“Link, Mommy!” Stiles shouted in excitement, tummy feeling all funny with the need to make his brother stop frowning. “Just like our last name, too! Stiles _link_ ski! I’m Stiles and he’s Link!”

“Yeah!” Link immediately agreed, bouncing up and down, happy once more. “I’m Link! Stiles said so!”

“Okay, then, Stiles and Link it is, guys.” Mommy’s laughter was bright, pretty. She dropped a kiss to each of their foreheads. “Now let’s go eat some lunch.”

*

The whole gang had been able to come out. It was nice because they didn’t get a chance to all hang out together very often. With the exception of Stiles, Scott and Lydia, who had all known each other before Columbia from back home, the gang had met during first year and had become friends who hung out in each other’s dorm rooms. Now, between full class loads, love lives, jobs and, in the case of Danny and Jackson, fraternity engagements, they were just too busy.

Eh, so what if it had taken Stiles’s not!date to get them all there in one place. Whatever. Stiles could roll with it.

Erica and Boyd were sucking face next to the bar, Jackson next to them with his face all screwed up in disgust at the PDA. Danny was next to Jackson, probably over there encouraging Erica to slip Boyd some tongue going by the sly expression on his face, dimples and all, and his laughter.

A few seats away were Allison and Lydia, also respectively known as Scott’s previous love interest and Scott’s potential new love interest. Since there was no more sitting space, Isaac stood just behind Allison, leaned in close to her back, as he made his contributions to the conversation via his mumbles into her neck.

At the table situated closest to the bar, Scott kept Stiles company. And, despite wanting to smack Scott in the back of the head, Stiles was glad Scott was there. It kept him from thinking too much. From wondering when Link would show up with Derek in tow. Or vice versa.

“Just go over there,” Stiles said for the tenth time, no exaggeration. It was the _actual_ tenth time he’d said it. He’d kept count.

Scott cast another longing look in Lydia’s direction. “I don’t want—I mean, Isaac’s with Allison now and, y’know, what if I make things _uncomfortable_?”

“What about me, Scott? What about making me uncomfortable? Because you’re doing it. Right now. There’s a vague burning sensation in my chest that is slowly starting to make its way up my neck.”

“They have medicine for that.” Scott made a face.

“No, they don’t, because this is second hand embarrassment I’m experiencing over here, asshole. Caused by Scott McCall’s refusal to man up. Only known cure, Scott McCall finding his balls and _actually going over there to talk to Lydia Martin_.”

The next few minutes were spent with Scott draining the rest of his beer, then shredding the label off the bottle with the tip of a fingernail, neither of them talking. Stiles waited. He knew his friend and, therefore, knew what was coming next.

Not one to disappoint, Scott finally tore his attention away from Lydia to make sad puppy dog eyes at Stiles instead. “It’s just that, a few months ago, I was with Allison and things were really good between us. _Really, really_ good. Good like—”

“ _Nope._ ” Stiles had heard all the excruciating details before, had lived through them all the same time as Scott had from the moment Scott had met Allison two years ago during Freshman Orientation on up to the day they’d broken up. No need for a repeat, thanks. He stood up from the table and said, “She’s obviously moved on. Time for you to do the same, man.”

Then Stiles pushed his way through the crowd until he reached the edge of the dance floor. The Dungeon was a club that attracted all types. Straight, gay, bisexual, asexual, whatever. There were guys and girls grinding on each other, girls grinding on girls, guys grinding on guys, people grinding with the air.

Eyeing an attractive dude who eyed him back, Stiles decided screw it, if Link could be himself and be with Derek, be happy, then Stiles could do it, too. Time to stop suppressing his desires, hiding who he was. He was just about to make his way over to introduce himself Stilinski club style, which would include some pretty vigorous and awesome shaking of his ass, if he did say so himself, when a pair of arms slipped around his middle from behind.

“Stiles, _hi_ ,” a female voice said into his ear.

A genuine smile already on his face, Stiles turned around. Pulled the girl standing in front of him into a hug. “There she is.”

Although Heather was his ex, they’d separated on good terms. Specifically, with Stiles appreciating her attempts to salvage his pride as she’d assured him that it was okay he couldn’t get hard, she didn’t think any less of him, it could happen to anyone. They’d only made it for another week after the disaster Stiles had immediately dubbed as _The Unspeakable Event That Shall Never Be Mentioned Upon Pain of Death_ before reaching the amicable conclusion that they just worked better as friends.

She had been the first person, since Link, that Stiles had tried to have sex with. She had also been the last.

Heather grinned as they parted. “So—” a nod of her head towards the guy who’d caught Stiles’s notice “—finally realizing some things about yourself?”

“Something like that,” Stiles confessed, sheepish. When a shoulder nudged him from the side, he latched onto the interruption because, despite the fact that they were still friends of a sort, and that Heather respected his decree about _The Unspeakable Event That Shall Never Be Mentioned Upon Pain of Death_ , every encounter he had with her through forevermore would always be just the slightest bit uncomfortable because _erectile dysfunction_.

Yeah, not something Stiles would be getting over any time soon. Like ever.

But the problem had never really been erectile dysfunction, had it. Because Stiles’s dick was getting hard just fine right at that very moment.

From Link, dressed in a fitted black sports jacket, a white shirt and tight dark jeans. The glasses were still in place, but the beanie was gone, Link’s hair ruffled and messy in a way that suited him.

From Derek, who wore black, black annnd...even more black.

Holy shit, they looked good together. Standing there right next to Stiles dancing, Derek behind Link, hands on Link’s hips, holding Link close, ass to crotch, as Link gyrated in tune with the music.

“I never would’ve guessed that there were two of you, you never told me,” Heather said and all Stiles could do was nod dumbly in reply. She pushed up to her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. Whispered in his ear, “Looking at your other half’s preferences, Stiles, I’d say your answer earlier should have actually been less _something like that_ and more _exactly like that_.”

Stiles tore his attention away from Link and Derek to watch her walk away. The crowd swallowed her completely and the guy from earlier was suddenly there in front of Stiles.

“Wanna dance?” he asked.

Sucking in much needed air through his open mouth, Stiles glanced at Link and Derek. Felt his face heat up when he saw them both staring right back at him. “Yeah, yes. Yes, I do.”

The guy took a single step towards Stiles, then...Stiles wasn’t there anymore. He was up against Derek’s chest, yanked there by Derek’s hand that still surrounded his wrist, Link now molded to his back, sandwiching Stiles in.

“He’s with us,” Derek said, voice hard and top lip pulled up on one side in a snarl, revealing a set of canines that the alcohol Stiles had consumed told him were very sharp and very elongated. His eyes also seemed to flash that impossible red again.

Though he knew he shouldn’t, between Derek and Link is where Stiles stayed. For the rest of the night.

But Derek’s hard dick pressed up against Stiles’s thigh meant nothing. Nor did the hot, wet stripes Link licked up his neck. They were both just going with the flow. Having some fun. It wasn’t serious.

They had each other. While Stiles had no one but himself.

*

_When they were eleven..._

“Have you ever thought about it?” Link asked.

Stiles had thought about it plenty. Was currently thinking about it. While watching Link.

Link didn’t even like cherry, but he was eating a cherry flavored popsicle regardless, even though there were still a few grape and orange left. His lips were stained red and a little bit of juice ran down his chin that his tongue, also stained red, darted out to lick up.

“Yeah, I’ve thought lots about kissing someone,” Stiles answered. He tore his eyes away from Link’s mouth and focused on the game he was playing. Just in time to see his car rear end the driver in front of him and flip over into a fiery wreck. Game over. “Crap.”

“Sweet! Now gimme the remote. It’s my turn, jerk. _Finally_.”

*

Things were changing.

Isaac and Allison had moved in together. Which left Lydia without a roommate. Which led to Scott reminding Stiles numerous times over the past few weeks that the lease on their apartment would soon be up.

Stiles’s pending homelessness couldn’t be blamed on anyone but himself. He had been the one to tell Scott to go for it with Lydia. And Scott had. With a spectacular outcome. Because although Scott and Lydia were new to the whole dating each other thing, they weren’t new to each other. There was six years of history and friendship between them. An excellent, solid foundation. They were happy and Stiles was happy for them.

“So just move in with us,” Link said after Stiles told him what was going on. Easy as that.

They were sitting on the cream leather couch in the center of the loft Link shared with Derek. This wasn’t the first time Stiles had come over to visit. First time had actually been the night after the club. The loft was within walking distance of The Dungeon and Stiles had been invited home with them so Stiles and Link could continue to make up for lost time.

Only, things hadn’t exactly ended with Stiles and Link catching up.

Derek was very tactile. The entire walk, he touched Link a lot, kept Link near him. He also touched Stiles a lot, too, through the bumping of shoulders and the occasional swipe of his fingers against Stiles’s neck, the back of his hand, his cheek.

End result? Link basically tackling Derek soon as they were behind closed doors. And, since the loft was basically the kind where there wasn’t exactly a bedroom, just a second level spanning half the loft which shared air with the floor below, Stiles got an earful. Of Derek trying to pound Link’s ass straight through the mattress.

Ashamed, Stiles had spent the night biting the throw pillow belonging to the very couch he was sitting on now, a hand down inside his pants. He’d come the exact moment Link had whimpered, “ _Derek_ , I’m gonna, gonna—unghf, com- _coming_.”

The next morning had been very awkward for Stiles. Link and Derek acted like there was nothing wrong. Assholes.

Stiles had been over a few times since then and had worked himself up to the point where he was all for spending a night every so often, didn’t have a problem with it. Because now he could read the signs and knew when to slip out to avoid being an auditory voyeur of the sexytimes happening upstairs.

Living with Link and Derek? Would make it a lot more difficult for Stiles to leave.

“Um,” Stiles said, “you guys really don’t have the room?”

Not unless they moved, which Stiles didn’t see happening since Derek actually owned the loft. It was a recent purchase, Stiles had found out a few weeks back. Previously, they’d lived upstate, with Derek’s family, including his mother, father, sisters, brother-in-laws, uncles, aunts, numerous nieces and nephews, everyone ( _“We’re very close,” Derek had explained_ ). The decision Link and Derek had made to move away hadn’t been met with full approval and a couple of family members, an overinvested uncle and a meddling older sister, had even gone so far as to try and stop them even though Derek was twenty-eight and Link twenty-two and both very capable of living on their own ( _“Very, very close_.”).

Just the day prior, Link had told Stiles they’d come to Manhattan for one reason and one reason only. _Stiles_.

The hum Stiles received in response from Link to his observation on the lacking of Stiles space in the loft was non-committal. Link flicked on the tv and, still caught up in his head a little bit, it took Stiles a few moments to realize that Link had actually turned on a DVD.

When he did…

...whoa.

Two brothers, twins, _identical twins_ , filled the screen. Completely nude. Kissing. Licking. Sucking.

Stiles’s eyes met Link’s. “Hey, Link, I-I can’t—this isn’t—”

“We’ve been very careful to stay away from talking about...us, our past. But you do know that what we did with each other wasn’t wrong, right? We loved each other, were the closest things to each other. It was natural.” Eyebrows shooting up, Link added, “Dad never—did Dad tell you—”

“He never told me it was wrong.” He’d also never treated Stiles any differently. Just...one day their family of four was suddenly a family of two and Stiles had been told he couldn’t talk to his Mom or brother anymore, that it was better for everyone that way.

“For what it’s worth, Mom didn’t, either,” Link stated. “I haven’t, I haven’t talked to her in a while. There are some reasons I haven’t called her lately. Things...there are things in our family’s history that she should’ve told us about. _Important_ things.”

“Like?”

“Later.” Link eased closer to Stiles. “Please.”

And it was just like that first time when they were fourteen. The want, the need. It was all there.

Stiles blinked. Blinked again. “Derek...”

“Please, Stiles, _please let me_.”

A nod of the head and Link had Stiles’s shirt pushed up his chest, out the way. Had Stiles’s pants unbuttoned. Had a cock pulled out that was already hard for him.

Link spit in his hand, got it nice and wet, nasty, just how Stiles liked it, then wrapped Stiles up in his palm. Stiles curled his sock covered toes into the fibers of the area rug that covered most of the hardwood floor. His hips thrust up, causing his dick to slide further into Link’s tight hold.

In only seconds, Stiles was whining, come pulsing out of his cock, slicking up Link’s fist even more. It spurted up his chest, almost to his chin. Left Stiles feeling exhausted and lightheaded.

And the guilt, the guilt was there. Always there. An old friend waiting in the dark to welcome Stiles back with wide open arms.

It chased Stiles out of the loft and down the street, nipping at his feet the entire way.

*

_When they were sixteen..._

Link was up on his knees, his forearms bracketing the pillow his face was buried in. One hand steady on the back of his neck, Stiles used his hold to keep Link in place.

He fucked into Link hard. It was something that Link needed, had asked for. Something that Stiles needed, wanted to give. They had both been on the starting line for tonight’s game against Forest Bend, both had scored several goals. Beacon Hills' win had been in large part due to the Stilinski twins.

Celebration with the team had included pizza at Papa John’s.

Celebration with each other included lube, hard cocks and relaxed, greedy ass holes.

Moans, moans belonging to Link, echoed throughout the room. Much too loud.

“Damn it, Link, you _have_ to shut up,” Stiles hissed, snapping his hips forward again which resulted in the loudest sound yet from Link. They may have been in Stiles’s room, which was further from the Master Bedroom than Link’s, but it was the middle of the night and Mom and Dad were home, down the hall. Within hearing distance.

“Stiles? Link?” Dad’s voice came from right outside the shut door. The door neither Stiles nor Link had bothered to lock. “Everything okay?”

“Are they all right?” And there Mom was.

But Link was too far gone, hadn’t heard them. He groaned again leaving Stiles with no time to warn him not to.

Then Mom and Dad were in the room with them, dragging them apart. Dad prevented Stiles from jumping up to check on Link, who was still on the bed, Mom by his side, with his firm hand planted in the center of Stiles’s chest.

“One of you want to tell me just what in the hell is going on here?” Dad asked, looking back and forth between Stiles and Link.

Stiles met Link’s eyes. Eyes that were just like his own. Reflected the same terror his own did.

No getting around this, they’d finally gotten caught.

*

It wasn’t that Stiles was avoiding Link and, by extension, Derek.

He...just hadn’t spent as much time over at their place for the last week. There were still of plenty text messages and phone calls and Facebook messages exchanged. But no actual face-to-face time.

Okay, Stiles _was_ avoiding Link and, by extension, Derek. Link had a good thing going with Derek and Stiles didn’t want to screw shit up between them. Link had been able to let go of their perversions before Stiles had come back into his life, had been able to move past them, start a healthy relationship.

And Stiles was going to do the same. Once he reached that point, had someone to tag along with him to hang out with Link and Derek, take his mind off things that he shouldn’t want, well, that’s when he planned to start spending time with his brother again.

Maybe, once things were right, he’d even open up to Dad. Call home. Tell him he’d found Link. Quit being selfish by trying to keep Link all to himself. But that could only happen when things were on the up and up. Else Dad would be suspicious.

For damn good reason.

That handjob Link had given Stiles had been the best thing Stiles had felt in years. Probably the worst way Link had ever betrayed Derek.

Everything was just so fucked up.

So that’s how Stiles ended up on a date with one of Danny and Jackson’s frat brothers. After Stiles had admitted to all of his friends, one at a time, that he was gay (to which everyone had expressed support, even Scott in a roundabout way when he’d asked if there was maybe a secret boyfriend he didn’t know about that Stiles could move in with once their lease terminated – let no one ever accuse Scott McCall of being cryptic, okay) Danny had immediately told Stiles about some dude he knew who wanted some of the Stilinski (Stiles’s description, not Danny’s).

Ryan was nice looking in that wholesome, boy next door way and Stiles was having a good time. Even if Link hadn’t bothered to wish him good luck, had in fact hung up on Stiles when Stiles had talked to him just beforehand and told him who he was going out with, and for what purpose, without revealing the where lest he and Ryan ended up with unexpected company.

“Waiting for a call?” Ryan asked when Stiles checked his phone for the millionth time during dinner in hopes of discovering a missed text from Link, an overlooked voicemail, _something_.

“Uh...” Stiles said, just as a text message showed up on his screen.

Although he didn’t recognize the number, the area code was the same as Link’s, one that belonged to Upstate New York, Essex County. It wasn’t hard to guess who the terse message was from.

_Get here. Now._

“Hey, sorry, but I have to go,” Stiles excused himself.

“Yeah, it’s cool.” Once their bill was settled up, Ryan walked with Stiles to the door. Before going their separate ways, he added, “Maybe I’ll see you around sometime. Stay in touch.” 

Stiles used the fifteen walk to get his thoughts together. He was unsure why Link’s pleas that he stop being such a pussy ass douchecanoe hadn’t managed to get to Stiles off his ass and over to their place like that one, single, rude two sentence text from Derek had. By the time he’d reached their place, been granted access by the doorman and ridden the elevator up to their floor, he still didn’t have an answer.

Hand lifted, ready to knock, Stiles took a step back when Derek wrenched the door open before Stiles had even touched it. With an iron hold on Stiles’s wrist, he yanked Stiles inside, slammed the door shut behind him, then crowded Stiles up against the closest wall until he basically covered Stiles’s entire front side.

Derek didn’t have a shirt on. Derek. Did not. Have a shirt. On.

“You smell like him,” Derek growled.

And—“ _What_?”

“You should, you know.”

Mind fuzzy with Derek’s half naked nearness (Stiles _really_ should push him away— _where the fuck was Link_?), Stiles wasn’t able to follow the leap in conversation. “ _What_?”

Downright predatory, Derek grinned. “Move in with us.”

“Oh, Link told you about that, huh?” Then, around a bark of strained laughter, Stiles said, “Your couch is awesomely fantastic for the occasional night over, dude, but no way do I want to permanently sleep on it.”

“Who said you had to?” Derek asked, pushing his face into the side of Stiles’s neck. He bit down lightly. Sucked for a few moments. Backed away. “I wouldn’t _want_ you to.”

“Link,” Stiles gasped out in response to this strange, reverse parody of events that had happened the other day with his brother.

“How ‘bout we go find him.” Derek grabbed Stiles’s hand and pulled Stiles behind him, up the stairs to the second floor.

Naked, Link lay there in the center of the bed, face down. His legs were spread apart in such a way that it left the pucker of his asshole exposed. It was puffy and angry red in color, abused from a very recent, good, hard fucking. Streaks of white leaked out.

Come. That was Derek’s _come_.

Involuntarily, Stiles took a step back. Right into Derek, who gathered Stiles close to his chest from behind.

“You belong there. On that bed, _my bed_ , right next to your brother.”

Stiles was already hard, dick straining against the back of his zipper. He shivered, bucked into Derek’s palm when Derek slipped a hand down and around the straining outline. “This isn’t—I _can’t_...”

Lips right next to Stiles’s ear, Derek’s breath was hot and moist. “I want to go hunt that guy down you went out with. You’re _mine_.”

And Stiles was done. Done arguing with himself. Done fighting his desires, whether they were fucked up or not.

Derek pushed him towards the bed, towards Link who had flipped over to stare at Stiles, brown eyes wide with desire and want and _need_. Stiles went. Crawled on top, towards Link who waited for him. Didn’t protest when Link pushed his overshirt down his shoulders and off.

“You don’t ever fuck him.” Derek gave the order from where he still stood at the foot of the mattress, arms folded across his chest, muscles bulging in an obscene manner.

“Got it.” Stiles’s agreement was wholehearted, immediate. He just wanted to be a part of this. To be with Link. With Derek. “This Stilinski’s stick never touches that Stilinski’s slot.”

“Link,” Derek said after a few long minutes of silence had gone by. Entertaining minutes filled with Link pulling Stiles’s t-shirt over his head, followed by them reacquainting themselves with each other through kisses and cautious touches, but silent of everything else other than their occasional throaty moans.

“What?”

“ _You don’t ever fuck him_.”

“How come? I’ve known him way longer than you have and I’ve—”

“Link.”

“Okay, fine.” Link’s tone was flippant. Stiles knew it well. It plainly said that Link was going to do whatever Link wanted to do.

“ _Link._ ”

Sighing, Link said in all seriousness, “Understood, Derek, I will never, ever fuck him.” Link placed a hand on top of Stiles’s head and pushed Stiles down, towards his erect cock that was still smeared with the remnants of his orgasm from when Derek had fucked him earlier. “Least we still get to do all the other fun stuff.”

*

_When they were twelve..._

The first time, they’d both moved in too fast and had ended up clacking their teeth together. _Painfully._

The second time, Stiles’s lip had ended up busted. He’d gone in for it just as Link had ducked his head, putting his forehead where his mouth had been just moments before.

The third time, this time, they’d gotten it right. Link pulled back from the kiss, his cheeks flushed pink, a shy smile on his face that Stiles returned.

*

Covered in come, sweat drying on his skin, Stiles lay between Link and Derek, one to either side of him. He was drifting, satiated. Satisfied. Mostly asleep, but still just the slightest bit awake. Enough to pick up bits and pieces of the conversation going on around him. But not enough that he would remember any of it the next time he opened his eyes.

“...an Omega, just like me...gene is latent in our family...”

“...one day forgive...”

“...hard to...our Mom should’ve told us...she knew...”

“...Link...”

“...I _do_ miss her...Dad, too...but never would’ve known...neither of us, if you hadn’t...”

“...my mate...Jesus, I can’t believe...not one, but two...”

“...love you and him... _so much_...hurts...”

“...love you _both_...”

Love. Stiles loved them both, too. And he was exactly where he was supposed to be, with who he was supposed to be with.

Safe, secure, he fell asleep.

_They whose guilt within their bosom lies, imagine every eye beholds their blame._

~William Shakespeare

**Author's Note:**

> Stop by and say hi on Tumblr: [mznaughty01](http://mznaughty01.tumblr.com/).


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